Blood Song

“Wait!” Hevren uncapped the canteen and drank, gulping down the water until it was empty, then tossing it aside. “No more talk, Hope Killer.” He drew his sabre, planting his feet in a fighting stance, flicking a sudden rush of sweat from his brow.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Vaelin told him. “Sorry for the Hope, sorry we came here, sorry I can’t give you the death you hunger for.”

“I said no more talk!” Hevren took a step forward, sabre drawing back for a thrust, then stopped, blinking in confusion, eyes suddenly unfocused.

“Two parts valerian, one part crown root and a pinch of camomile to mask the taste.” Vaelin held up the canteen cap he had switched for the one containing Sherin’s sleeping draught. “Sorry.”

“You…” Hevren stumbled forward a few steps before collapsing. “No!” he grunted, desperately trying to heave himself upright. “No…” He thrashed for a while longer then lay still.

Vaelin called to the Nilsaelin soldiers manning the gate. “Find him somewhere comfortable but secure, and make sure you take all his weapons.”

Frentis arrived with the scout troop, reining in beneath the arch of the gatehouse. “Couldn’t have been much of a fight,” he observed as the Nilsaelins carried off Hevren’s unconscious form.

“I’ve taken enough from him,” Vaelin replied. “His army’s nowhere in sight. Circle out to the west, see if you can pick up their trail.”

“You think they’re making for Untesh?”

“Either there or back to Marbellis. Stay out for one day only, and take no chances. If you’re spotted, ride back to the city.”

Frentis nodded and spurred his horse forward, the scout troop following close behind. Vaelin watched them ride towards the west and tried to ignore the faint trill of unease from the blood-song.

Night came with no sign of Frentis. He waited atop the gatehouse, gazing out at the desert, marvelling again at the clearness of the sky here, the vast array of stars shimmering above the night black sands.

“You worry about him.” Sherin appeared at his side, her fingers briefly touching the back of his hand before she folded her arms beneath her robe.

“He’s my brother,” he replied. “The captain still sleeps?”

“Like a child. He’s as well as a man could be after days in the desert with little water.”

“Don’t get too close to him when he wakes, he’ll be angry.”

“He hates you very much.” Her voice was heavy with regret. “They all do, these people, despite what you did for them…”

“I killed the heir to their empire and brought a foreign army to their city. For all I know the Red Hand too. Let them have their hate, I earned it.”

She moved closer, casting a wary glance at the guard nearby who seemed more preoccupied with the grit under his fingernails. “The mason heals well but his sleep is troubled, his burns still cause him pain. I dull it as best I can but still he rants in his dreams, speaking languages I’ve never heard for the most part, but some in our tongue.” Her gaze was intent, questing. “Some of the things he says…”

He raised an eyebrow. “What does he say?”

“He talks of a song, of singers, of a living wolf fashioned from stone, of a vile and deadly woman, and he talks of you, Vaelin. Maybe it’s just nonsense, delusions and dreams born of drugs and pain, but they scare me. And you know, I am not easily scared.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, ignoring her glance of alarm at the guard. “What does it matter, now?” he asked.

“Your position, your role here.”

“Let them mutiny, depose me if they like.” He had raised his voice so the guard could hear, although the man was now intensely interested in looking anywhere but at him. If he was any judge of soldierly gossip, it would be all over the barracks by morning. He found he couldn’t care a jot.

“Stop it.” She shrugged free of him, flustered but also suppressing a laugh.

The guard cleared his throat and Vaelin turned to find him pointing out at the desert. “Troop returning, my lord.”

The gates swung open to allow the scout troop to enter at a weary trot, Vaelin instantly alarmed that Frentis was not among them. “The Alpiran host was less than ten miles from Untesh when we found it, my lord,” explained Sergeant Halkin, Frentis’s second in command. “Brother Frentis elected to ride ahead and warn Prince Malcius of the danger. He ordered us to return here to bring word to you.”

Vaelin briefly clasped Sherin’s hand and strode off towards the stables, calling over his shoulder. “Fetch Brother Barkus and Brother Caenis!”

Chapter 10

“Well, that’s that,” Barkus said.

“Clever,” Caenis murmured. “We didn’t give this Alpiran enough credit, it seems.”