Текст книги "Blood Song"

Автор книги: Anthony Ryan

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“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-hound, called to him through the door.

Sherin put her hands to her lips to suppress a 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.

“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.”

A thick column of smoke rose from the city of Untesh to stain the morning sky. Hundreds of corpses littered the ground before the walls where scaling ladders reached up to the battlements like stacked kindling. Through the smoke Vaelin could see a standard snapping in the breeze, crossed sabres of black on a red background, the same standard he had seen at the oasis. The Alpiran Battle Lord had eschewed siege for an all out assault, accepting dreadful losses to reclaim the city for the emperor. Untesh had fallen. Prince Malcius and Frentis were dead or captured.

I am a murderer…

“We should keep this from the men,” Caenis said. “The effect on morale…”

“No,” Vaelin said. “We tell them the truth. They know I won’t lie to them. Trust is more important than fear.”

“He could’ve made it out,” Barkus suggested, although his tone lacked conviction. “Got to a ship, maybe.”

Vaelin closed his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts, attempting to cast the blood-song forth as he had when he lost Dentos in the sandstorm. The note was even, unwavering, and found no answer. “He’s not there,” he whispered, hope surging in his breast. He had entertained a half-mad notion of waiting until darkness then finding a way over the walls to search for Frentis amidst the aftermath of the battle, although he was fully aware the most likely outcome would be a swift death. But if he’s not here, then where? He wouldn’t have deserted the prince.

“Outriders,” Caenis said, pointing to the plain before the city where a body of horsemen was raising a thick cloud of dust as they galloped towards their position.

“Can’t be more than a dozen.” Barkus unhitched his axe from his saddle and unfastened the leather cover on the blades. “A little recompense, for the prince and our brother.”

“Leave it.” Vaelin pulled on Spit’s reins, turning him away from the city. “Let’s go.”

Another month passed as they waited for the storm. He trained the men hard, drilling them until they sagged with exhaustion, ensuring each man knew his place on the walls and was fit and skilful enough to at least survive the first assault when it came. He sensed their fear and growing resentment but had no answer to it but more training and sterner discipline. To his surprise, their mingled fear and respect held true and there were no desertions, even after Barkus returned from a reconnaissance to Marbellis with news that it too had fallen.

“Place is near a ruin,” the big brother related, swinging down from his horse. “Walls breached in six places, half the houses wrecked by fire and I lost count of the Alpirans camped outside.”

“Prisoners?” Vaelin asked.

His brother’s usually cheerful visage was entirely grim. “There were spikes on the walls, lots of spikes, each one topped with a head. If they spared anyone, I didn’t see them.”

The Battle Lord… Alucius… Master Sollis…

“What fools we were to let the old bastard send us here,” Barkus was saying.

“Get some rest brother,” Vaelin told him.

At night Sherin would come to him and they would make love, finding blessed relief in intimacy, lying coiled together in the dark afterwards. Sometimes she would cry small, jerking sobs she tried to hide. “Don’t,” he would whisper. “All be over soon.”

After a while her sobs would subside and she would cling to him, lips covering his face with a desperate urgency. She, like every other soul in the city, knew what was coming. The Alpirans would break over the walls like a wave and he and every other Realm subject in arms would die here.

“We can go,” she said one night, imploring. “There are still ships in the harbour. We can just sail away.”

His hand traced over her smooth brow, the fine curve of her cheek and the elegant line of her chin. It was wonderful to touch her face, to feel her shiver at his touch before a warm flush crept over her skin. “Remember my promise, my love,” he said, thumbing a tear from her eye.

He was touring the walls the next morning when Caenis came with word of Realm vessels approaching the harbour. “How many?”

“Near forty.” His brother appeared unsurprised by the turn of events. The idea that the king would leave them to wither unsupported seemed not to have occurred to him at all. “We’re to be reinforced.”

“There has been talk,” Caenis said as they waited on the quayside watching the first ship steer its way past the mole and into the harbour. His tone was uncomfortable but determined. “About Sister Sherin.”

Vaelin shrugged. “Well there might. We’ve hardly been discrete.” He glanced at Caenis, regretting his levity in the face of his brother’s discomfort. “I love her, brother.”

Caenis avoided his gaze, his tone heavy. “According to the tenets of the Faith you aren’t my brother now.”

“Excellent. Feel free to depose me. I’ll happily hand this city over to you…”

“Your position as Lord Marshal of the Regiment and commander of this garrison was given you by the King, not the Order. I have no power to depose you. All I can do is report your… transgression to the Aspect for judgement.”

“If I live to be judged.”

Caenis gestured at the approaching ship. “We’re being reinforced. The King has not failed us. I think we’ll all live a while yet.”

In the distance Vaelin could see the rest of the fleet bobbing sluggishly on the swell. Why do they linger out there? he wondered, a realisation dawning as the ship drew nearer and he saw how high it sat in the water. This vessel carried no reinforcements.

Sailors threw ropes to soldiers on the quay as the ship tied up to the dock, a gangplank quickly heaved over the railing. He had expected some senior Realm Guard Marshal to descend and was surprised by the appearance of a figure clad in the expensive garb of Realm nobility making an uncertain passage from ship to shore. It took a moment before Vaelin pulled the man’s name from his memory, Kelden Al Telnar, one time Minister of Royal Works. The man following Al Telnar was more to Vaelin’s expectation, tall and simply dressed in a robe of blue and white with a neatly trimmed beard and mahogany dark skin.

“Lord Vaelin,” Al Telnar bowed as Vaelin came forward to greet them.

“My Lord.”

“May I present Lord Merulin Nester Velsus, Grand Prosecutor of the Alpiran Empire currently acting as Ambassador to the Court of King Janus.”

Vaelin gave the tall man a bow. “Prosecutor, eh?”

“A poor translation,” Merulin Nester Velsus replied in near-perfect Realm tongue, his tone cool and his eyes tracking over Vaelin with predatory scrutiny. “More accurately, I am the Instrument of the Emperor’s Justice.”

Vaelin wasn’t sure why he started laughing, but it took a long time to subside. Eventually he sobered and turned to Al Telnar. “I take it you have a Royal order for me?”

“These orders are clear to you, my lord?” Al Telnar was nervous, a faint sheen of sweat on his upper lip, his hands clasped tightly together on the table before him. But his clear satisfaction at being involved in a moment of such importance appeared to override any trepidation he might have harboured about delivering these orders to such a famously dangerous man.

Vaelin nodded. “Quite clear.” They were in the council chamber at the merchant’s guild, the tall Alpiran Grand Prosecutor the only other occupant. The lack of witnesses had peeved Al Telnar, making him enquire as to the whereabouts of a scribe to record the proceedings. Vaelin hadn’t bothered to answer.

“I have the King’s word in writing,” Al Telnar produced a leather satchel and extracted a sheaf of papers bearing the royal seal. “If you would care to…”

Vaelin shook his head. “I hear the King is unwell. Did he give you these orders himself?”

“Well, no. Princess Lyrna has been appointed Chamberlain, until such time as the King recovers of course.”

“But his illness doesn’t prevent him issuing orders?”

“Princess Lyrna struck me as a very conscientious and dutiful daughter,” Lord Velsus put in. “If it is any consolation, I discerned a considerable reluctance in her bearing when she reported her father’s word.”

Vaelin found himself unable to suppress a chuckle. “Ever played Keschet, my lord?”

Velsus narrowed his eyes, his lips curling in anger and he leaned across the table. “I do not understand your meaning, you ignorant savage. Nor do I care to. Your king has given his word, will you abide by it or not?”

“Erm,” Al Telnar cleared his throat. “Princess Lyrna did ask me to pass on word of your father, my lord.” He balked at the intensity of the gaze Vaelin turned on him but forged ahead valiantly. “It seems he too is unwell, the various maladies of age, I’m told. Although she wished to assure you she does all she can to sustain him. And hopes to continue to do so.”

“Do you know why she chose you, my lord?” Vaelin asked him.

“I assumed she recognised the good service I have provided…”

“She chose you because it will be no loss to the Realm if I kill you.” He turned to the Alpiran. “Wait outside. I have business with Lord Velsus.”

Alone with the Alpiran Grand Prosecutor he could feel the man’s hatred like fire, his eyes were alive with it. Al Telnar may have relished the import of the moment, but he could see Lord Velsus cared nothing for history, only justice. Or was it vengeance?

“I’m told he was a good man,” he said. “The Hope.”

Velsus’s eyes flashed and his voice was a hard rasp. “You could never understand the greatness of the man you killed, the enormity of what you took from us.”

He remembered the clumsy charge of the man in the white armour, the blind disregard for his own safety as he sped towards death. Had that been greatness? Courage certainly, unless the man had expected the fabled favour of the gods to protect him. In any case, the frenzy of battle left little room for admiration or reflection. The Hope had been just another enemy in need of killing. He regretted it but could still find no room for guilt in the memory, and the blood-song had ever been silent on the subject.

“I began this war with four brothers,” he told Velsus. “Now one is dead and the other lost to the mists of battle. The two that remain…” His voice faded. The two that remain…

“I care nothing for your brothers,” Velsus replied. “The Emperor’s mercy is a great agony to me. If it was within my gift I would see your entire army flayed and driven into the desert as a feast for the vultures.”

Vaelin met his gaze squarely. “If there is the slightest attempt to interfere with the safe passage of my men…”

“The Emperor’s word has been given, written and witnessed. It cannot be broken.”

“To do so would be against the gods’ will?”

“No, the law. We are an Empire of laws, savage. Laws that bind even the greatest of us. The Emperor’s Word is given.”

“Then it seems I have no choice but to trust it. I request it be noted that Governor Aruan gave no assistance to my forces during our tenure here. He has remained a loyal servant of the Emperor throughout.”

“The Governor will give his own testimony, I’m sure.”

Vaelin nodded. “Very well.” He rose from the table. “Tomorrow at dawn then, a mile south of the main gate. I assume there are some Alpiran forces nearby awaiting your word. It would be best if you spent the night with them.”

“If you think I will allow you out of my sight until…”

“Do you want me to flog you from this city?” His tone was mild but he knew the Alpiran could hear its sincerity.

Velsus’s features quivered with a mixture of fury and fear. “Do you know what awaits you, savage? When you are mine…”

“I have to trust your Emperor’s word. You’ll have to trust mine.” Vaelin turned to the door. “There is a Captain of the Imperial Guard in our custody. I’ll ask him to act as your escort. Please be out of the city within the hour. And feel free to take Lord Al Telnar with you.”

He had the men assembled in the main square, Renfaelin knights and squires, Cumbraelin archers, Nilsaelins and Realm Guard all drawn up in ranks awaiting his word. His dislike of speech-making was still undimmed and he saw little point in preamble.

“The war is over!” he told them, standing atop a cart and casting his voice towards the rear ranks so they all heard clearly. “His Highness King Janus agreed a treaty with the Alpiran Emperor three weeks ago. We are ordered to quit the city and return to the Realm. Ships are now berthing in the harbour to take us home. You will proceed to the docks in companies, taking only your packs and weapons. No Alpiran property is to be removed on pain of execution.” He scanned the ranks briefly. There were no cheers, no rejoicing, just surprised relief on nearly every face. “On behalf of King Janus, I thank you for your service. Stand at ease and await orders.”

“It’s really over?” Barkus asked as he stepped down from the cart.

“All over,” he assured him.

“What made the old fool give it up?”

“Prince Malcius lies dead in Untesh, the bulk of the army was destroyed at Marbellis and trouble brews in the Realm. I assume he wants to preserve as much of his army as he can.”

He noticed Caenis standing nearby, possibly the only man not joining his voice to the massed babble of relief. His brother’s slender face showed a mix of mystification and what could only be described as grief. “It seems there’s to be no Greater Unified Realm, brother,” he said, keeping his tone gentle.

Caenis’s gaze was distant, as if deep in shock. “He does not make mistakes,” he said softly. “He never makes mistakes…”

“We’re going home!” Vaelin laid hands on his shoulders, giving him a shake. “You’ll be back at the Order House in a couple of weeks.”

“Bugger the Order House,” Barkus said. “I’ll be making for the nearest dockside tavern where I intend to stay until this whole bloody farce has become a bad dream.”

Vaelin clasped hands with them both. “Caenis, your company will take the first ship. Barkus, take the second. I’ll keep order while the rest of the men embark.”

Lord Al Telnar opted to take the first ship home rather than wait for the climax of this moment in history, his face stiff with resentment when Vaelin delayed him at the gangplank. “Tell my brother nothing of the treaty until you reach the Realm.” He glanced over at where Caenis stood on the prow of the ship, his bearing still so forlorn. They had all lost more than they should in this war, friends and brothers, but Caenis had lost his delusion, his dream of Janus’s greatness. He wondered if his desolation would turn to hate when he heard the full details of the treaty.

“As you wish,” Al Telnar replied shortly. “Anything further, my lord, or may I depart?”

He felt he should give him some message for Princess Lyrna but found he had nothing to say. As he could feel no guilt over killing the Hope he was surprised to discover he also had no more anger towards her.

He stood aside to let Al Telnar board and waved to Caenis as the gangplank was hauled aboard and the ship began to pull away from the quay. Caenis answered with a brief and distracted wave of his own before turning away. “Goodbye brother,” Vaelin whispered.

Barkus was next to go, urging his men aboard with a hearty bluster that failed to mask the haunted look his eyes had taken on since his return from Marbellis. “Come on, step faster you lot. Whores and inn keepers won’t wait forever.” His mask almost slipped completely when Vaelin approached, his face tense as he fought to suppress tears. “You’re not coming are you?”

Vaelin smiled and shook his head. “I can’t, brother.”

“Sister Sherin?”

He nodded. “There’s a ship waiting to take us to the Far West. Ahm Lin knows of a quiet corner of the world where we can live in peace.”

“Peace. Wonder what that’s like. Think you’ll like it?”

Vaelin laughed. “I have no idea.” He extended his hand but Barkus ignored it to enfold him in a crushing embrace.

“Any message for the Aspect?” he asked, stepping back.

“Only that I’ve decided to leave the Order. He can keep the coins.”

Barkus nodded, hefted his hateful axe and strode up the gangplank without a backward glance. He stood unmoving on the foredeck as the ship pulled away, like one of Ahm Lin’s statues, a great and noble warrior frozen in stone. Vaelin would always prefer to think of him like this in the years that followed.

He stayed on the quay to watch them all leave, Lord Al Trendil hounding his regiment onto the ships with a flurry of waspish insults, offering Vaelin the most cursory of bows before boarding. It seemed he had never quite forgiven him for taking away the chance of profiting from the war. Count Marven’s Nilsaelins scrambled aboard the ships with unabashed eagerness, a few calling jocular farewells to Vaelin as they sailed away. The Count himself seemed unusually cheerful, now all chance of glory had evaporated it seemed he had no more cause for enmity. “I lost more men to brawls than to battle,” he said, offering Vaelin his hand. “For which I think my fief owes you its thanks, my lord.”

Vaelin shook his hand. “What will you do now?”

Marven shrugged. “Go back to hunting outlaws and wait for the next war.”

“You’ll forgive me if I hope you have a long wait.”

The Count grunted a laugh and strolled onto his ship, accepting a bottle of wine from his men who sang heartily as the ship drew away,

“Desert winds blow hard at me

Till we reach the shining sea.

And borne away across the waves

My lover’s life I’ll sail to save.”

Baron Banders and his knights laboured onto the ships under the weight of their disassembled armour. Of all the contingents their mood was the most varied, a few weeping openly over the loss of the great warhorses which had had to be left behind, others clearly drunk and laughing uproariously.

“A sorry spectacle they make without armour and horses, eh?” Banders asked, his own faux-rusted plate balanced on the shoulders of an unfortunate squire who stumbled several times before successfully heaving it onto the ship.

“They’re fine men,” Vaelin told him. “Without them this city would have fallen and there would be no homecoming for any of us.”

“True enough. When you return to the Realm I hope you’ll visit me. Always a full table in my manor.”

“I shall, and gladly.” He shook the Baron’s hand. “You should know Al Telnar brought details of events at Marbellis. It seems the Battle Lord and a few others managed to fight their way to the docks when the walls fell. About fifty men managed to escape in all, Fief Lord Theros was not among them but his son was.”

The Baron’s laugh was harsh and his face grim. “Vermin always find a way to survive, it seems.”

“Forgive me, Baron, but what happened at Marbellis to cause the Fief Lord to dismiss you? You’ve never told me.”

“When we finally fought our way in the slaughter was terrible, and not confined to Alpiran soldiery. Women and children…” He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “I found Darnel and two of his knights raping a girl next to the bodies of her parents. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen. I killed the two others and was trying to geld Darnel when the Fief Lord’s mace laid me low. ‘He’s scum, right enough,’ he told me the next day. ‘But he’s also the only son I have.’ So he sent me to you.”

“Have a care when you return to your lands. Lord Darnel doesn’t strike me as a forgiving soul.”

Banders replied with a grim smile, “Neither am I, brother.”

Sergeants Krelnik, Gallis and Janril Noren were the last of the Wolfrunners to leave. He shook hands with each of them and thanked them for their service. “It’s been less than ten years,” he told Gallis. “But if you wish to be released, it is within my discretion.”

“We’ll see you in the Realm, My Lord!” Gallis said, snapping off an impeccable salute and marching onto the ship, quickly followed by Krelnik and Noren.

The Cumbraelin archers were the last contingent onto the ships. He had offered to place them ahead of the Renfaelins for fear they may suspect some perfidious Darkblade plot to abandon them to the Alpirans, but Bren Antesh had surprised him by insisting they wait until all others had gone. He supposed there was a possibility of ambush, he was alone with a thousand men who saw him as an enemy of their god after all, but they all trooped onto the ships without trouble, most either ignoring him or offering nods of wary respect.

“They’re grateful for their lives,” Antesh said, reading his expression. “But they’ll be dammed if they’ll say it. So I will.” He bowed, Vaelin realising it was the first time he had done so.

“You’re welcome, Captain.”

Antesh straightened, glanced at the waiting ship and then back at Vaelin. “This is the last ship, my lord.”

“I know.”

Antesh raised his eyebrows as realisation dawned. “You don’t intend to return to the Realm.”

“I have business elsewhere.”

“You shouldn’t linger here. All these people have to offer you is an ugly death.”

“Is that what happens to the Darkblade in the prophecy?”

“Hardly. He is seduced by a sorceress who makes herself a queen with the power to conjure fire from the air. Together they wreak terrible ruin on the world until her fire consumes him in the throes of their sinful passion.”

“Well, at least I have that to look forward to.” He returned Antesh’s bow. “Luck to you, Captain.”

“I have something to tell you,” Antesh said, his normally placid features sombre. “I did not always carry the name Antesh. Once I had another name, one you know.”

The blood-song surged, not in warning, but clear and strident triumph. “Tell me,” he said.

Ahm Lin’s burns had healed well but his scars would linger for the rest of his life. A large patch of puckered, discoloured tissue marred the right side of his face from cheek to neck and similarly ugly scars were visible on his arms and chest. Despite this he appeared as affable as ever, although his sadness at what Vaelin asked of him was obvious.