“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 discreet.” 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 awhile 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, onetime 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 room at the merchants 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 King’s 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 were 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 to 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. “Good-bye, 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 innkeepers 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 hi
s 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. “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.”