Текст книги "Blood Song"

Автор книги: Anthony Ryan

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“What is this?” Barkus said in sick wonderment. “You said this man was just an outlaw.”

“He appears to be an outlaw of considerable ambition,” Nortah observed.

“This isn’t about thievery,” Caenis said softly, taking a closer look at one of the hanging corpses. “This is… something else.” He looked down at the blood-black bowl on the floor. “Something else entirely.”

“What would…?” Nortah began but Vaelin held up a hand to silence him.

“Listen!” he hissed.

It was faint, an odd sound, a man’s voice, chanting. The words were indistinct, alien. Vaelin followed the sound to an alcove where he found a door, slightly ajar. Sword held low he eased the door open with the toe of his boot. Beyond was another chamber, this one roughly hewn from rock, bathed in the red glare of firelight, deep shadows flickering over a sight that made him stifle a shout of shock.

Frentis had been tied to a wooden frame in front of a roaring open fire. A gag was firmly secured in his mouth. He was naked, his torso marked by many cuts forming an strange pattern on the skin, blood flowing freely down his body. His eyes were wide open, alive with agony. At the sight of Vaelin they widened further.

Next to Frentis was a man with a knife, bare chested, his strength evident in the knotted muscle of his arms and the hard angular lines of his face, a face with only one eye. The empty socket had been filled with a smooth black stone, reflecting a single red point of firelight as he turned to Vaelin. “Ah,” he said. “And you must be the mentor.”

Vaelin had never truly wanted to kill before, never felt a real bloodlust. But now it raged in him, a song of fury blinding his reason. His fist tightened on his sword hilt as he stepped forward into a charge…

He never knew what happened, never truly understood the paralysis that seized his limbs, only that he found himself sprawled on the floor, his lungs suddenly empty of air, his sword clattering from his grasp. His hands and feet felt like ice. He tried to stand but could find no purchase on the floor, flailing like a senseless drunk as the one eyed man moved away from Frentis, his knife a bloodstained yellow tooth in the fire’s glow.

“Ho there!” Barkus shouted, charging along with the others. “Time to die One Eye!”

The one eyed man raised his hand, an almost careless gesture, and a curtain of fire rose in front of Vaelin’s brothers, sending them reeling back. The fire wall spanned the chamber, rising from floor to ceiling, an unbroken barrier of swirling flame.

“I like fire,” the one eyed man said, turning his angular face back to Vaelin. “The way it dances, quite beautiful don’t you think?”

Vaelin tried to reach inside his cloak for his hunting knife but found all his hand would do was shake uncontrollably.

“You’re strong,” the one eyed man observed. “Usually they can’t move at all.” He glanced over at Frentis, wide eyed, blood streaming from his cuts, his naked form straining against his bonds with all his strength.

“You came here for him,” the one eyed man continued. “You’re the one he said would come to kill me. Al Sorna, Blackhawk fighter, assassin killer, Battle Lord spawn. I’ve heard of you. Have you heard of me?” He gave a mirthless smile.

Vaelin found to his surprise he could still spit. It landed on the one eyed man’s boots.

The smile disappeared. “I see you have. What did you hear I wonder? That I was an outlaw? An overlord of outlaws? True of course, but only in part. No doubt you had to kill several of my employees to get this far. Didn’t you wonder why they wouldn’t run? Why they were more afraid of me than you?”

The one eyed man crouched down, his face close to Vaelin’s, hissing, “You come here with your sword and your brothers and your dog, and you have no idea of your utter insignificance.”

He turned his face, displaying the black stone in his eye socket. “You would be forgiven for thinking this a curse. But it was a gift, a wondrous gift for which I should thank your young brother. Oh, the power he gave me, power enough to set myself up over all the scum of this city. I have made myself a king of thieves and cut-throats, I’ve eaten off silver plate and slaked my lust on the finest whores. I have everything a man could want, but yet I find there is one thing I can’t forget, one thing that troubles my sleep…” He rose and moved towards Frentis. “The pain of a gutter born whelp putting a knife through my eye.”

Frentis writhed in his bonds, his gagged face distorted with rage and hate. Vaelin could hear the muffled obscenities he attempted to spit through the gag.

“He wouldn’t talk, you know,” the one eyed man told Vaelin over his shoulder. “You should be proud of him. Refused to share your Order’s secrets, although now you’re here in person I daresay my questions will be answered in full.” He placed the knife against Frentis’s chest, pushing the point half an inch into the flesh and tracing a cut from the breast to the ribcage. Frentis’s teeth were white on his gag as he screamed.

Vaelin tried to gather his arms under him, manoeuvring the ice numb limbs beneath his chest, then trying to heave himself upright.

“Oh don’t bother,” the one eyed man said, turning back from Frentis, bloodied knife in hand. “You’re tightly bound I assure you.”

Teeth gritted, Vaelin managed to push himself off the stone floor, his entire body shaking with the effort.

“Strong indeed!” the one eyed man said. “But I can’t have that.”

The same icy numbness seized him again, flooding his arms and legs spreading into his chest and groin, forcing him back to the floor, exhausted.

“You feel my power?” The one eyed man stood over him. “At first it frightened me, even one such as I can feel the chill of looking into an abyss, but fear fades.” He held up the knife stained with Frentis’s blood. “I have the secret now. The knowledge to make myself immune to all enemies.” He placed a finger on the knife blade, drawing a bead of blood from the metal and placing it in his mouth. “Who could have thought it would be so simple? To be a king amongst outlaws requires the spilling of much blood. These past years I have bathed in it as I sought victims to sate my anger against your young brother here. And as I bathed I found my power growing so that now, even one as strong as you cannot stand against my will. I was told your destiny lay elsewh-…”

Caenis leapt through the wall of fire, his sword held high in a two fisted grip. He brought it down as his feet touched the floor, the blade cleaving the one eyed man from shoulder to sternum. The look on his face as he stood impaled on the sword was one of complete astonishment.

“Fire without heat,” Caenis said. “Isn’t fire at all.”

Vaelin’s paralysis faded as the one eyed man’s corpse slipped to the floor, the fire wall he had raised vanishing in an instant. Vaelin felt hands lifting him, his limbs still shaking with lingering numbness. Barkus and Nortah cut Frentis’s bonds and took the gag from his mouth. Free of his ties the boy went wild, screaming hate-filled curses at the one eyed man’s inert form, taking up his knife and plunging it again and again into the body.

“You stinking bastard!” he screamed. “Think you can cut me, you fucking filth!”

Vaelin waved the others back and let Frentis abuse the corpse until he collapsed from the effort, slumped over the body, bloody and exhausted.

“Brother,” he said, placing his cloak over Frentis’s shoulders. “Your wounds need attention.”

Chapter 8

“Sister Sherin is still in the south,” Brother Sellin told Vaelin at the gate of the Fifth Order, his eyes flicking to Frentis, hanging bloody and unconscious between Barkus and Nortah. “Master Harin has undertaken her duties. Come brothers.” He opened the gate wide, beckoning them to enter. “I will take you to him.”

Master Harin spent over an hour stitching and dressing the cuts on Frentis’s body, ordering them from the treatment room when their unasked for advice and constant questions became too irksome. Vaelin found Aspect Elera waiting in the corridor.

“I can see your day has been hard, brothers,” she said. “There is food waiting for you in our dining hall.”

They ate in silence, their conversation stilled by the presence of so many members of the Fifth Order. The healers stared at the blue robed, grim faced interlopers, a few familiar faces offering greetings to Vaelin, receiving a only a curt nod in response. Their table was piled high with food but Vaelin found he had no appetite. His hands retained a slight tremble from whatever the one eyed man had done to him and the vision of Frentis tied and bleeding was still at the forefront of his thoughts.

Aspect Elera joined them an hour or so later. “Master Harin tells me your brother will recover. He will have to stay with us for several days whilst he heals.”

“Is he awake, Aspect?” Vaelin asked her.

“Master Harin gave him a sleeping draught. He should wake in the morning. You can see him then.”

“My thanks, Aspect. May I request that word be sent to our Order? Aspect Arlyn will be expecting my report.”

She sent Brother Sellin to the house of the Sixth Order and gave them a room in the east wing. Vaelin insisted on sitting with Frentis and Caenis waited with him whilst the others slept, cleaning his weapons to pass the time, laying his sword and knives out on the floor, metal gleaming in the candle light as he ran cloth over each blade with meticulous care. Scratch had been confined to an empty pen in the stables. He ignored the food he had been given and howled continually, his plaintive cries reaching them through the walls.

Vaelin studied the long bladed dagger he had taken from Frentis, the blade the one eyed man had used to cut the web of scars into his body. It was Caenis’s by right but he had refused to take it with a grimace of distaste. Vaelin decided to keep it on impulse, it was a finely made weapon of unfamiliar design, the blade well tempered and the handle elegantly fashioned with a silver pommel. The guard bore writing with unfamiliar letters. Clearly it was a weapon from across the sea. One Eye had a long reach it seemed.

“The fire was an illusion,” Vaelin said. His voice sounded listless and dull to his ears, reminding of him of Brother Makril and his jaded tales of fire and slaughter.

Caenis glanced up from his weapons and nodded, his hands continuing to guide the cloth over the blades.

“The Dark,” Vaelin said. “The blood, it gave him power. That’s what the bodies were for.”

Caenis’s didn’t look up, but nodded once more, still cleaning his blades.

Vaelin felt the tremor return to his hands, his anger flaring at the memory of his helplessness before the one eyed man. A helplessness not shared by Caenis. Caenis could leap through Dark borne fire and hack down the man who called it forth. You know so much more than you tell me, brother, Vaelin realised. It’s always been this way. “There are no secrets between us,” he said.

Caenis’s hand paused in mid stroke as he worked a cloth over his sword blade. His eyes met Vaelin’s and for the briefest second there was something there, something different from the affection or respect he normally saw in his friend’s eyes, something almost resentful.

The door opened and Master Sollis entered with Aspect Elera. “You two should be resting,” he said shortly, moving to the bed to check on Frentis, his eyes tracing over the blood stained bandages covering his chest and arms. “Will he scar, Aspect?”

“The cuts were deep. Master Harin is skilled but…” She spread her hands. “There is only so much we can do. Luckily his muscles are intact. He will be strong again soon.”

“The man who did this is dead?” Sollis asked Vaelin.

“Yes, master.” Vaelin gestured at Caenis. “My brother’s stroke.”

Sollis glanced at Caenis. “The man was skilled?”

“His skills were not with weapons, master.” Caenis glanced uncertainly at Aspect Elera.

“Talk freely,” Sollis instructed him.

He told Master Sollis all that had transpired since their departure from the Order House, from the Black Boar inn to their confrontation with the one eyed man beneath the city. “The man had knowledge of the Dark, master. He could call up an illusion of fire and he bound Brother Vaelin by his will alone.”

“But not you?” Sollis asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No. I expect I surprised him by seeing through his illusion.”

“You made sure of the kill?”

“He’s dead master,” Vaelin assured him.

Master Sollis and Aspect Elera shared a brief glance.

“I hear the Aspect had been gracious enough to provide you with a room,” Sollis said, turning back to Frentis. “She would feel insulted if you failed to use it.”

Recognising their dismissal they rose and moved to the door. “Tell no-one else of this,” Master Sollis ordered before they left. “And do something to shut that bloody dog up!”

In the morning Master Sollis questioned them closely about the route to the One Eye’s chambers and the ancient temple to the Faith they had found. Vaelin offered to guide him but received only a stern refusal. When he was satisfied with their directions Sollis told them to return to the Order House.

“Brother Frentis…” Vaelin began.

“Will heal just as well with you at your training where you belong. The Test of the Sword is but eight weeks away and none of you are ready yet.”

They trudged back to the Order House without Master Sollis who had given them another warning to keep silent before going off to investigate their findings. Scratch had whined in protest when they led him away from the House of the Fifth Order, needing much reassurance from Vaelin before following their steps.

To Vaelin their tower room seemed to have shrunk in their absence. A night of fear and mystery made it feel so small, a child’s room, even though it had been a long time since he felt like a child. He stowed his gear and lay back on his narrow bed, closing his eyes to see again the one eyed man’s wall of flame and Frentis's tortured form. I believed I had learned so much, he thought. But I know nothing.

The boys from Frentis’s group came asking questions but Vaelin followed Master Sollis’s instructions and told them he had been attacked by a mountain lion during his Test of the Wild. He was recovering in the House of the Fifth Order and would return within a few days. Sollis himself said nothing about his investigations on return to the Order and the Aspect did not request their presence. Frentis’s abduction was another non-event in the Order’s history. The Order fights, but often it fights in shadow. As he grew older Vaelin found ever more truth in Master Sollis’s words.

Frentis himself said nothing of the incident on his return, resuming his training with a disturbing vigour, as if rejecting the damage One Eye had done to him by ignoring the pain his exertions cost him. His demeanour had changed also, he was less apt to smile and where he had been talkative before now he was largely silent. His temper too had grown shorter and the masters had to drag him out of several fights. Even the other boys in his group seemed wary of him. Only with Scratch and Vaelin did he regain some vestige of his old self, taking an energetic part in training the now grown pups. However, even then he continued to say nothing of his ordeal, although Vaelin sometimes caught him running his fingers over the pattern of scars carved into his skin, his face oddly thoughtful as if trying to decipher their meaning.

“Do they hurt?” Vaelin asked him one Eltrian evening. The pups were tired from a day spent tracking with Master Hutril and could only snap lazily at the treats they tossed into their pens.

Frentis quickly pulled his hand away from his shirt. “A little. Less and less as the weeks pass. Aspect Elera gave me a balm for ‘em, helps a bit.”

“It was my fault…”

“Forget it.”

“If I had told the Aspect…”

“I said forget it!” Frentis's face was tense as he stared into the pens. Slasher, his favourite pup, sensed his mood and came over to lick at his hand, whining in concern. “He's dead,” Frentis said, calmer now. “And I’m not. So forget it. Can’t kill him twice.”

They walked back to the keep together, cloaks wrapped against the chill although winter was fading fast and the surrounding trees were quickly taking on the verdant hues of spring.

“Test of the Sword next month,” Frentis said. “Worried?”

“Why? Do you think I should be?”

“I’ve already bet my whole knife collection that you finish all three in less than two minutes. I meant what happens after. They’ll send you away, right?”

“I expect so.”

“Think they’ll let us serve together when I’m confirmed? I’d like that.”

“So would I. But I don’t think we get a choice. It’ll be a good while before we see one another again, that’s for sure.”

They lingered at the courtyard, Vaelin sensing Frentis had more to say. “I…” he began then stopped, fidgeting uncomfortably. “I’m glad you spoke for me, when I came here,” he said after a moment. “I’m glad I’m in the Order. I feel like I was meant to be here. So you shouldn’t feel bad about anything that happens to me, right? Whatever happens from now on, you don’t have to feel bad and you don’t have to come running when I’m in trouble.”

“Wouldn’t you come running if I was in trouble?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s exactly the same.” He clapped Frentis on the shoulder. “Get some rest, brother.”

He had taken a few steps when Frentis said something to make him stop, his voice barely above a whisper, “The one who waits will destroy us.”

He turned to find Frentis hunched in his cloak, arms folded tightly against his chest, face wary. He wouldn’t meet Vaelin’s eye.

“What?” Vaelin asked.

“He told me.” Frentis winced, as if pained and Vaelin knew he was reliving his torture at One Eye’s hands. “He got angry when I wouldn’t tell him what he wanted to know. Kept asking about the Tests, the skills we’re taught here. Seemed to think we get taught how to practice the Dark. Stupid bastard. Wasn’t going to tell him anything though. So he cut me some more, then he said, ‘The one who waits will destroy your precious Order, boy.’”

The one who waits... “Did he tell you want it meant?”

“I passed out when he started cutting me again. He’d only just managed to bring me round when you turned up.”

“Did you tell the Aspect of this?”

Frentis shook his head. “Dunno why. Just felt that I shouldn’t tell no one except you.”

Vaelin felt a chill that had nothing to do with the deepening cold. For a moment he was back in the forest during the Test of the Run, listening to the men who had killed Mikehl as they debated the identity of their victim. The other one… You heard what the other one said. Gave me the shivers he did.

“Don’t tell anyone else,” Vaelin said. “One Eye told you nothing.” He watched Frentis shiver in his cloak and forced a smile. “The man was a loon. His words mean nothing. But it’s best we keep this between us. Telling our brothers would only cause foolish talk.”

He watched Frentis nod and walk away, still clutching himself beneath his cloak, his fingers no doubt playing over his scars. Will he dream tonight? Vaelin thought and felt a pang of mingled guilt and regret. Why couldn’t it have been me who killed One Eye?

Chapter 9

The morning of the Test of the Sword brought a hard rain that turned the earth to mud and did little to lighten their spirits. The Test was held in an arena on the outskirts of the city, an ancient structure of finely shaped granite, worn with age and weathered by the elements. It was known only as the Circle and Vaelin had never met anyone who could tell him when or why it had been built. Looking at it now he realised there were similarities with the temple to the seven orders they had found beneath the city, the way the supporting columns curved up to the tiers above echoed the elegance of the underground structure. Here and there he glimpsed adornments in the stonework, carvings of faded intricacy that recalled the better preserved motifs of the temple. He drew Caenis’s attention to them as Master Sollis led them into the shade beneath the columns but received only a grunt in response. Today even Caenis was too preoccupied to indulge in curiosity.

Vaelin could see the fear and uncertainty on his brothers’ faces but found he was unable mirror it. The emotions that made Dentos vomit his breakfast and Nortah white-faced and closed-lipped were something he simply didn’t feel. He was unafraid and he didn’t understand why. Today he would face three men in armed combat. He would kill them or they would kill him. The prospect of death should have chilled him to the core. Perhaps it was the very simplicity of the situation that robbed him of his fear. There were no questions here, no mysteries, no secrets. He would live or he would die. But despite his inability to fear the ordeal something still nagged at him, a small, insistent voice at the very edge of his thoughts, whispering words he didn’t want to hear: Perhaps you don’t fear the Test because you relish it.

Unwillingly, he recalled the Test of Knowledge, the awful truth the Aspects had forced from him. I can kill. I can kill without hesitating. I was meant to be a warrior. Images of the men he had killed came back to him in a rush: the archer in the forest, the faceless assassins in the House of the Fifth Order, the one eyed man’s hireling. It was true he had felt no hesitation in killing any of them, but had he truly relished it?

“You’ll wait in here.” Master Sollis led them into a chamber set back from the main entrance. The walls were thick but they could hear the baying of the crowd in the Circle. The Test of the Sword was an ever popular event in the city but only those with sufficient coin could purchase a ticket and typically it was the Realm’s wealthier citizens who came to watch the three day spectacle, often wagering huge sums on the outcome of each contest. The profits from the day would be donated to the Fifth Order to care for the sick. Vaelin couldn’t help but smile at the irony of it.

“What’s so funny?” Nortah demanded.

Vaelin shook his head and sat down on a stone bench to wait. There were twenty brothers in Vaelin’s group today. The fifty other survivors of the three hundred who had started their training together as boys of ten or eleven had undergone their Tests over the preceding two days. So far ten had been killed and another eight so badly maimed they could no longer serve the Order. Many others had serious cuts requiring weeks of healing. The parade of wounded and shocked brothers trooping through the gates over the past two days had added considerable weight to the burden of fear most of them now carried. Of all of them, only Vaelin and Barkus seemed unaffected.

“Sugar cane?” he offered Vaelin, taking the place next to his.

“Thank you brother.” The cane was fresh and its sweetness tinged with a slight acidity, but still the sensation was a welcome distraction from the grim mood of the others.

“Wonder who’ll be first,” Barkus said after a moment. “Wonder how they choose.”

“We draw lots,” Master Sollis told them from the doorway. “Nysa. You’re first. Let’s go.”

Caenis nodded slowly, face immobile, and got to his feet. When he spoke his voice was barely audible. “Brothers…” he began, then stopped, choked. “I…” He stammered for a moment before Vaelin reached out grasp his forearm.

“We know, Caenis. I’ll see you shortly. We all will.”

They stood, the five of them, grasping hands. Dentos, Barkus, Nortah, Vaelin and Caenis. Vaelin remembered how they had been as boys. Barkus beefy and clumsy. Caenis thin and fearful. Dentos loud and full of stories. Nortah sullen and resentful. Now he saw only shadows of those boys in the lean, stern faced young men before him. They were strong. They were killers. They were what the Order had made them. This is the end of something, he realised. Live or die, this is where things change, forever.

“It’s been a long road,” Barkus said. “Never thought I’d get this far. Wouldn’t have but for you lot.”

“Wouldn’t change any of it,” Dentos said. “Every day I thank the Faith for my place in the Order.”

Nortah’s face was tense, his brows furrowed as he fought to master his fear. Vaelin thought he wasn’t going to speak but after a moment he said, “I… hope you all make it through.”

“We will.” Vaelin clasped hands with all of them. “We always do. Fight well, brothers.”

“Nysa,” Master Sollis said from the door. He sounded impatient and Vaelin was surprised he had allowed them this interlude. “Let’s go.”

Waiting to find out if your friends were dead, Vaelin discovered, was a singular form of agony that made the effects of Joffril root feel like a taste of lemon tea. One by one his brothers were called out by Master Sollis, there would be a short wait before the crowd erupted in cheers, the volume of which rose and fell with the fortunes of the fight. After a while he found he could gauge the course of a fight, if not the victor, by the crowd’s reaction. Some were over quickly, a matter of seconds, Caenis’s fight in particular had been very short. Vaelin found he couldn’t decide if this was good or bad. Other fights were longer, Barkus and Nortah both enduring prolonged contests of several minutes.

Dentos was the last to be called before Vaelin. He forced a smile, took a firm grip on his sword hilt and followed Master Sollis from the chamber without a backward glance. Judging from the noise of the crowd his fight was eventful, raucous cheers followed by hushed silence then an explosion of applause, repeated several times over. When the final wave of noise washed through the chamber Vaelin found he was unable to judge if Dentos had survived.

Luck to you brother, he thought, alone in the chamber now. Mayhap I’ll join you soon. His hand ached from gripping his sword hilt, the knuckles white on the leather. Is this fear now? he wondered. Or just stage fright?

“Sorna.” Master Sollis was in the doorway, his level gaze meeting Vaelin’s eye with an intensity he hadn't seen before. “It’s time.”

The tunnel leading to the arena seemed long, much longer than he could have imagined. Time played tricks as he walked the length of the tunnel, the journey perhaps taking a minute or an hour. All the time the crowd’s clamour rose in volume until he felt himself bathed in sound as he emerged onto the sandy floor of the arena.

The crowd bayed down at him from ascending tiers of seats on all sides, at least ten thousand in all. He was unable to distinguish a face amongst the multitude, they were simply a seething, gesticulating mass. None of them seemed to mind the rain which was still falling in hard, wind driven sheets. There was blood on the sand, raked to stop it pooling and dulled by the rain but still a stark red against the greenish yellow of the arena floor. Three men waited for him there, each holding a sword of the Asraelin pattern.

“Two murderers and a rapist,” Master Sollis said. Vaelin assumed it was the noise of the crowd that seemed to add a tremor to his voice. “They deserve their end. Show them no mercy. Mark the tall one, he seems to know how to hold a blade.”

Vaelin’s eyes found the tallest of the three, a well built man in his mid-thirties with close cropped hair and a natural balance in his stance; feet in line with his shoulders, sword held low. Trained¸ he realised. “A soldier.”

“Soldier or healer, he’s still a murderer.” The briefest pause. “Luck to you brother.”

“Thank you, master.”

He drew his sword, handed the scabbard to Master Sollis and strode forward into the arena. The crowd’s shouts redoubled as he entered, here and there he caught a word or two: “Sorna!… Hawk-killer!… Kill them boy!….”

He stopped ten feet or so from the three men, looking at each of them in turn as the crowd’s noise dwindled to a hush of anticipation. Two murderers and a rapist. They did not look like criminals. The one on the left was simply a scared, unshaven man holding his sword in a shaking hand as rain pelted him and ten thousand souls awaited his death. Rapist, Vaelin decided. The man on the right was stockier and less afraid, shifting his weight constantly from one foot to the other, he eyes locked onto Vaelin’s beneath deeply glowering brows as he twirled his sword in his right hand, rain water spraying from the blade. He said something, water spouting from his lips, a curse or a challenge, the words lost amidst the rain and the wind. Murderer. The third man, the soldier, showed no fear and felt no need to twirl his sword or voice his aggression. He simply waited, his gaze unwavering, his stance the same sword fighter’s stance Vaelin knew so well. A killer certainly. But a murderer?

The man on the right attacked first as Vaelin expected he would, charging into an easily turned thrust. Vaelin used the momentum of the parry to bring the blade round in a slash at the man’s neck. The stocky man was fast though, dodging away with only his cheek laid open. The man on the left sought to take advantage of the distraction, screaming as he ran in, pulling his sword back over his head and hacking down at Vaelin’s shoulder. He turned, the blade missing by less than an inch to thud into the sand. Vaelin’s sword point took the unshaven man under the chin, forcing its way up through tongue and bone to find the brain. He withdrew the blade quickly and stepped away knowing the soldier would attack now.

His thrust was fast and well placed, a killing stab at the chest. Vaelin’s blade caught the tip and forced the sword point up, leaving an opening to the soldier’s chest. Vaelin’s counter was fast, fast enough to have caught any of his brothers, but the tall man parried it without apparent difficulty. He moved back in a slight crouch, sword close to the ground. His eyes never leaving Vaelin.

The stocky man was attempting to hold his slashed cheek together with one hand, his sword waving wildly as he staggered, spitting inaudible curses at Vaelin with bloodied lips.

Vaelin feinted towards the tall man, slashing at his legs to force him back, then attacking the stocky man in a move so fast there could be no defence, rolling under a wild defensive slash to deliver a killing thrust through the back. His sword point pierced the stocky man’s heart and emerged from his chest. Vaelin put his foot to the dying man’s back and heaved him off the blade in time to duck under another slash from the tall man. He fancied he saw a rain drop sliced in half by the blade’s passage.