Blood Song

This isn’t candour, Vaelin surmised. Just another mask. He makes a lie of honesty to trap me in another design.

They came to an ornately decorated carriage, intricately carved wood shining with gold leaf, its windows curtained in black velvet. A team of four dappled greys waited at the tethers. The king gestured for him to open the door and climbed inside, groaning with the effort, beckoning him to follow. The king settled himself into a soft leather couch and rapped his bony fist against the wall behind. “Palace! Not too fast.”

From outside came the snap of a whip, the carriage jerking into motion as the four greys took the strain. “It was a gift,” the king explained. “The carriage, the horses. From Lord Al Telnar, you remember him?”

Vaelin recalled the finely dressed man from the Council Chamber. “The Minister of Works.”

“Yes, snide little bastard wasn’t he? Wanted me to seize a quarter of the Cumbraelin Fief Lord’s lands, punishment for his brother’s rebellion. Of course, he would generously take on the burden of stewardship, together with all the attendant rents. I thanked him for his carriage and seized a quarter of his own lands, gave the rents to Fief Lord Mustor. Should keep him in wine and whores for a while. A reminder to Lord Al Telnar that a true king cannot be bought.”

The king fished inside his cloak, coming out with a leather pouch about the size of an apple. “Here.” He tossed the pouch to Vaelin. “Know what this is?”

Vaelin tugged the pouch open to find a large stone of blue, veined with grey. “Bluestone. A big one.”

“Yes, the largest ever found, dug out of the mines in the Northern Reaches seventy-odd years ago when my grandfather, the twentieth Lord of Asrael, built the tower and established the first colony. Know what it’s worth?”

Vaelin glanced at the stone again, the lamp-light gleamed on its smooth surface. “A large amount of money, Highness.” He closed the bag and held it out to the king.

The old man kept his hands within his cloak. “Keep it. A King’s gift to his most valued sword.”

“I have no need of riches, Highness.” I can’t be bought either.

“Even a brother of the Sixth Order may one day find himself in need of riches. Please, think of it as a talisman.”

Vaelin returned the stone to the bag and hooked it to his belt.

“Bluestone,” the king went on, “is the most precious mineral in the world, highly prized by peoples of all nations, Alpirans, Volarians, the merchant kings of the Far West. It commands a better price than silver, gold or diamonds, and most of it is to be found in the Northern Reaches. The Realm has other riches of course, Cumbraelin wine, Asraelin steel and so on, but it was with bluestone that I built my fleet and with bluestone that I forged the Realm Guard, the two pins that hold this Realm in unity. And Tower Lord Al Myrna tells me the bluestone seams are beginning to thin. Within twenty years there wont be enough left to pay the miners to dig it out. And then what will we do, Young Hawk?”

Vaelin shrugged, commerce not being a familiar subject. “As you say, Highness, the Realm has other riches.”

“But not enough, not without taxing nobles and commons to such an extent that they’d both happily see me and my children hung from the palace walls. You’ve seen how troubled this land can be, even with the Realm Guard to hold it together, imagine the blood that will flow when it’s gone. No, we need more, we need spices and silk.”

“Spices and silk, Highness?”

“The main trade route for spices and silk runs through the Erinean sea, spices from the southern provinces of the Alpiran Empire, silk from the Far West, they come together at the Alpiran ports on the northern coast of the empire. Every ship that docks must pay the emperor for the privilege and a share in the value of their cargo. Alpiran merchants have grown wealthy off this trade, some more wealthy than even the Merchant Kings of the West, and they all pay tribute to the emperor.”

Vaelin’s unease deepened. He can’t be thinking it. “You wish to lure this trade to our ports?” he ventured.

The old man shook his head. “Our ports are too few, our harbours too small. Too many storms lash our coast and we are too far north to capture so much trade. If we want it, we’ll have to take it.”

“Highness, I know little of history but I cannot recall any occasion when this Realm or any of the fiefs was threatened by Alpiran invasion or even raid. There is no blood between our peoples. The Catechisms tell us that war is only justified in defence of land, life or Faith.”

“Alpirans are god-worshippers are they not? A whole empire in denial of the Faith.”

“The Faith can only be accepted, not forced, especially not on an empire.”