Blood Song

“Actually, I only met him once. The Guard Captain, Smolen, took me to his room. Rumours were flying around the city and the palace that he’s not a well man these days, and I could see it clear as day in his greyness of his skin, the way his flesh hung on his bones. Probably the onset of age coupled with some wasting illness. I offered to examine him but he said he had physicians aplenty. After that he stared at me for a moment or two and asked me just one question. When I gave him an answer he laughed and told the Captain to take me back to Princess Lyrna’s quarters. It was a sad laugh, full of regret.”

“What did he ask you?”

She shifted, rising to her knees, the sheets falling away to reveal her slender form, her eyes glittered and he realised she was crying. “He asked if I loved you. I said I did. And I do.” Her hands caressed his face with trembling fingers. “I do. I should have gone away with you when you asked, all those years ago.”

The morning he awoke after the agony of her cure, after the Aspect Massacre, after she had saved his life. “I thought it was a dream.”

“Then it was one we shared.” Her hands stopped in mid-caress, her tone suddenly hesitant. “One we could still share. There is no longer a place for me in the Realm, and there is a whole world I’ve yet to see. We could see it together. Perhaps find a place where there are no kings, no wars, no people killing each other over faith and gods and money.”

He pulled her close, enfolding her in his arms, rejoicing in the warmth of her, inhaling the smell of her hair. “There is something I have to do here. Something that has to happen.”

He felt her stiffen. “If you mean to win this war, you must know that is a fool’s hope. The empire stretches for thousands of miles, from desert to frozen mountains, with more people than there are stars in the sky. Fight off one army and the emperor is sure to send another, and another after that.”

“No, not the war. A task given to me by my Aspect. And I can’t run from it, though I want to. When it’s done, our dreams will be our own.”

She pressed closer, her lips touching his ear, whispering. “You promise?”

“I promise.” He meant it, with all his soul, and couldn’t understand why it felt like a lie.

The moment was broken by a loud growl from the hallway. Janril Noren, voice unnerved in the face of the angry slave dog, called to him through the door.

Sherin put her hands to her lips to suppress and laugh and shrank into the covers as Vaelin reached for his trews. “What is it?” he demanded, pulling the door open.

“There’s an Alpiran at the gates demanding you come and fight him, my lord.” Janril’s eyes slid from Vaelin’s face to snatch a glance at the room beyond, before fixing on the still growling Scratch. “Captain Antesh offered to feather him but Brother Caenis thought you might want him alive.”

“What does he look like, this Alpiran?”

“Big fellow, greying hair. Dressed like one of those horsemen we fought at the beach. Seems in a bad way, having a hard time staying in the saddle. Too long in the desert I think.”

“How many with him?”

“None, my lord. He’s all alone if you can believe such a thing.”

“Tell Brother Frentis to muster the scout troop and inform Brother Caenis I’ll be there directly.”

“My lord.”

He closed the door and began to dress.

“Are you going to fight him?” Sherin asked, emerging from the covers.

“You know I’m not.” He pulled his shirt on and leaned over to kiss her. “I need you to do something for me.”

Captain Neliesen Nester Hevren sat slumped in his saddle, a desolate fatigue marring his unshaven face. However, as the gates swung open and he caught sight of Vaelin, his evident exhaustion was replaced by grim satisfaction.

“Found the courage to face me, Northman?” he called as Vaelin approached.

“I had no choice, my men were starting to lose all respect for me.” He looked beyond the captain at the empty desert. “Where’s your army?”

“Fools led by a coward!” Hevren spat. “No stomach for what needed to be done here. Gods curse Everen, desert-born scum. The Emperor will take his head.” He fixed Vaelin with a stare of pure unbridled hatred. “But I’ll have yours first, Hope-killer.”

Vaelin inclined his head. “As you wish. Care to dismount or do you want it said you had an unfair advantage?”

“I need no advantage.” Hevren slid from his saddle with difficulty, desert sand shifting from his clothes, his horse giving a snort of relief. Vaelin surmised he had been in the saddle for days and noted how his legs sagged for a moment before he straightened.

“Here.” He unslung the canteen on his shoulder, removing the cap and taking a drink. “Quench your thirst, lest people say I had the advantage.” He replaced the cap and tossed the canteen to Hevren.

“I need nothing from you,” Hevren said, but Vaelin saw how his hand shook as it held the canteen.

“Then stay here and rot,” he replied, turning to go.