Reva ordered the companies to stay in formation and gather more strength before mustering at Alltor in the spring. For all the fierceness of their commitment she found them a disconcerting lot, hard-eyed and grim of aspect, the many rotting bodies of captured Volarians hanging in the forest evidence of a lust for vengeance far from sated. What will they wreak when we sail the ocean? she wondered, searching her memory in vain for a passage in any of the Ten Books that gave succour to vengeful thoughts.
Ellese greeted her with a fierce joy, thin arms tight around her waist as she complained of Veliss’s endless lessons. “She makes me read every morning and every night. And write too.”
“Skills of great importance,” Reva told her, gently undoing her arms. “Still, I have a few to teach you too, in time.”
Ellese’s small face frowned up at her, the gauntness now gone though she retained a slightly sunken look to her eyes. “What skills?”
“The bow and the knife. The sword too when you get older. Only if you want to.”
“I want to.” She gave an excited jump, taking Reva’s hand and dragging her towards the mansion. “Teach me now!”
Reva caught the grave expression on Veliss’s face and hauled the girl to a halt. “Tomorrow,” she said. “I have another task today.”
“Still no name for me?”
The broken-nosed priest cast a single, tired glance at her and shook his head. They were lined up on the causeway, twelve men in threadbare clothing, besmirched from their captivity in the mansion’s cellars, some swaying a little as the effects of Veliss’s various herbal concoctions could linger for days. The notes she had accrued during the interrogations were fulsome, near five hundred pages of names, dates, meetings, murders, enough to see the Church of the World Father revealed as a nest of traitors from Reader to Bishop, perhaps enough to shatter it completely.
“He really thought he could do it?” Reva asked the nameless priest. “Bring down House Mustor and rule the fief in the Father’s name?”
The priest raised his head, swallowing as he mustered his courage. “A holy endeavour, blessed by the Father.”
“Blessings spoken by a wretch in service to a creature of the Dark.” Reva stepped back, raising her voice and casting her gaze across each face. “You are fools, so steeped in the Ten Books you can’t even see the truth they hold. The Father does not bless deception and murder, the Father does not offer succour to those who would torment children to vile ends.”
She fell silent, feeling it build again, the same rage that had seized her during the siege, the fury that had seen her slit the throats of slavers and cut the heads from prisoners. The nameless priest shuddered, swallowing again as he fought down terror-born vomit. Arentes stood behind the shackled line with a full company of House Guard, swords drawn, each of them glaring at the traitors with an expression of grim hunger.
We are all killers now, she remembered. Bathed in blood with more to come. Her gaze lit upon a familiar figure at the end of the line, a wiry man, unlike the others in his willingness to meet her gaze, his visage oddly reverent. Shindall, she recalled. The innkeeper who had set her on the road to the High Keep. Seeing your face is the only thanks I’ll ever need.
Reva took the scroll tucked into her belt, holding it up so they could see the seal and the somewhat unsteady signature. “By order of the Holy Reader you are all named as ex?communicants from the Church of the World Father. You are forbidden from reading or reciting any of the Ten Books as you have proved yourselves unworthy of the Father’s love.” She looked once again at the broken-nosed priest. “And I know your name since the Father doesn’t want it, Master Jorent.”
She watched them close their eyes, heads bowing, some whispering prayers, one or two weeping with stains on their trews, much like the Volarian prisoners before being led to the block, though they hadn’t prayed, only begged.
“Lord Arentes,” Reva said. “Remove the shackles. Let them go.”
Veliss hadn’t voiced any rebuke, only puzzlement. “They plotted against your house once, what’s to stop them doing so again?”
“A plot requires concealment, hidden names, hidden faces. Now they are denied the shadows.”
“And you have denied yourself justice.”
“No, only revenge. The Father has ever been clear they are not the same thing.”
The various contingents of conscripts began arriving a month later, even though the rapidly descending winter did much to discourage marching. With the ever-deepening cold Reva ordered work on the walls stopped and all hands put to repairing the city proper, tents and oilskins to be replaced with walls and tiled roofs. Rationing was resumed as the snows blocked the passes through the mountains to Nilsael and halted further supply from the southern shore.
Reva began each day with Ellese’s lessons, starting with the knife, finding a long-bladed dirk that suited the girl’s small grip. For all her enthusiasm she was a clumsy student, given to frequent falls and scraped knees, though, unlike every other chore she was put to, her lessons with Reva never provoked tears, but her passion for questions remained unabated.
“Were you my age when you learned to do this?”
“I started younger. Don’t jump when you thrust, it’ll leave you unbalanced.”
“Who taught you?”
“A very bad man.”
“Why was he bad?”
“He wanted me to do bad things.”
“What bad things?”
“Too many to list. Watch me, not your feet.”
She left her to practice on the lawn and joined Veliss on the veranda, wrapped in furs against the frosty air and holding a sealed scroll. “It’s come then?”
Veliss nodded, handing her the scroll, though her gaze was still on Ellese, dancing her clumsy dance on the lawn. “She’s not really suited to this.”
“She’ll learn, from both of us.”
“Why did you take her in? You could have found a decent home for her elsewhere. Cumbrael is rich in bereaved mothers hungry for children.”
Reva glanced back at Ellese as she parried a thrust from an invisible enemy. “She didn’t run. When I went into her house she tried to stab me, and when I took her knife away she still didn’t run.” She turned back to Veliss. “I would appreciate it if you would see to the articles of adoption.”
“You’re sure? She’s so young.”
“She’s of noble birth and keen mind, with you to guide her she’ll do very well. And we need to secure the future.”
Veliss’s eyes went to the scroll, lingering on the queen’s seal. “I have never asked you for a promise. But I ask one now. Whatever awaits you across the ocean, promise you will stay alive and come back to me.”
Reva unfurled the scroll, finding it penned in the queen’s own hand, rich in warm regard and appreciation for her diligent enforcement of the edict, ending with a politely phrased order to bring her forces to South Tower by the last day of Illnasur. When winter will not have ended, Reva realised. She intends to sail before the onset of spring.
“Reva,” Veliss said in a choked whisper.
Reva took her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek, voicing another lie. “I promise.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Vaelin
Vaelin had once spent a winter at the Skellan Pass attempting to combat an upsurge in Lonak raids. Then it had been busy with brothers and Wolfrunners, a stark contrast to the silent walls and turrets he saw now, bereft of brothers to greet them as they approached the squat tower at the mouth of the pass. He knew Sollis had abandoned it with good reason, the Lonak having agreed peace and the invasion requiring every hand he could muster, but still the emptiness of the Realm’s great northern shield was disconcerting, a measure of how much had changed in so short a time.
“My people would have rejoiced at such a sight once,” Kiral said, no doubt sensing his feelings. “Now even they find it a grim omen.”
Vaelin turned as Lord Marshal Orven reined to a halt at his side, his fifty m
en all that remained of the Queen’s Mounted Guard. “Post guards. We’ll rest here tonight.”
He spent the night in the tower with Kiral and the Gifted from Nehrin’s Point, all of whom had opted to accompany him rather than join the queen’s impending voyage across the Boraelin. The queen herself had blessed their endeavour with well-chosen words and a fine smile, both of which belied her reaction when he had related his intention in private.
“You want to go trekking across the northern ice floes in the middle of winter?” She had called him to her rooms at the palace and the hour was late. Although, judging by the laughter seeping through the door, some of the children were still awake. They had grown steadily in number since the city’s liberation until there were near two hundred orphans crowding this wing of the palace, all formally recognised as Wards of the Crown under the Queen’s Word. Lyrna’s rooms were mostly bare of finery, filled with books and a selection of Brother Harlick’s scrolls, her desk holding several neat piles of notes in her precise script. The space was dimly lit by a single lamp and the glow from the fire, leaving half her features in shadow as she fixed him with a frown of wary bemusement, as if waiting for him to conclude a poor joke.
“Kiral’s song will be our guide,” he replied. “She speaks with the Mahlessa’s blessing, I know you trust her word.”
“I trust the Mahlessa to act only in the interests of the Lonak. If it suited her purpose to set us on a fool’s errand, I’ve no doubt she would do so.” Her frown softened and she reached for a piece of parchment on the desk, holding it up to the light. He recognised it as Alornis’s work—the lines were too precise and perfect for another hand—but the subject was new, a semicircular design of some sort, the shape formed from an intricate pattern of straight lines.
“Your sister proposes a radical departure from traditional methods of ship construction,” Lyrna said. “An inner hull formed of interconnected short beams describing a curve, essentially a practical application of Lervial’s concept of tangential arcs, though she claims never to have read it. If we adopt her approach, unskilled hands can be put to work crafting thousands of straight beams, saving months of skilled labour.”
“Then why not do so?”
“Because it’s never been done before. No ship has ever been built along such lines. Just as, insofar as I can recall from any history I have ever read, no explorer has successfully journeyed across the ice floes, not even in the height of summer.”
“Kiral trusts her song, and I trust her.”
“This man Erlin is so important?”
“I believe so. One so long-lived will possess knowledge far more valuable than anything in Harlick’s scrolls. And the legend says he was denied the Beyond, which may mean he has glimpsed it, as I have. But perhaps he saw more than I did.”
Lyrna’s brow furrowed once more in remembrance. “Arendil once told me a story about Kerlis, claiming his uncle had met him years ago. He said he had been cursed to live forever for refusing to join with the Departed. So he spent his endless days circling the earth in search of one who has the means to kill him, one who would be born to the Gifted of this land.” She sighed a weary laugh. “All just tales, Vaelin. You can’t expect me to sanction this course, to send my Battle Lord to die in the frozen wastes, on the basis of legend.”
“To our cost, we have both learned not all legends are bereft of truth.” He straightened, drawing breath to speak in formal tones but she held up a hand to stop him.
“Spare me the offer of resignation, please. I may command every other soul in this Realm, but I’ll not pretend to do so with you.”
“My thanks, Highness. I propose Count Marven be appointed Battle Lord in my place.”
“Very well. How many troops will you take?”
“None. Just myself and Kiral.”
She shook her head. “That is unacceptable. The Gifted from the Reaches and Lord Orven’s company will escort you.”
“Orven’s wife is with child. I’ll not ask him to follow such a hazardous course…”
“But I will, my lord. Orven is a soldier and knows his duty, happy news or no.”
He saw the implacable set of her face and nodded. “As you wish, Highness. The other matter we discussed?”
Her hands twitched on the desk as her face hardened yet further. “You ask much of me, Vaelin.”
“He was not responsible…”
“I know. But the sight of my brother’s murder does not easily fade.”
“If it’s punishment you desire, it seems the course I have proposed should provide it in ample measure.”
She met his gaze, the pale lines on her forehead standing out in the firelight, her voice flat with certainty. “I desire but one thing, my lord; a secure future for this Realm. I’ll send your brother across the ocean to be the harbinger of my coming, but do not ask me to forgive. I find such sentiment no longer within my grasp.”
Had Janus had his way, we would be married now, Vaelin reflected. He had taken leave of the others and climbed to the top of the tower, cloak wrapped tight and breath misting as he stared at the pregnant darkness beyond the pass. Would our children have been beautiful or terrible? Or both, like her.
There was a faint shift in the wind gusting across the tower, carrying a slight scent: mingled woodsmoke and sweat. “I know you’re there,” Vaelin said, not turning from the view.
Lorkan gave a wry laugh as he appeared at his side, unruly hair tumbling across his frost-pale face. “My lord’s gift has returned then?”
“There are other senses than sight.” He let Lorkan’s hesitant fidgeting continue for several moments before speaking again. “I assume you come with a request?”
“Indeed, my lord.” Lorkan rubbed his hands together, eyes averted, attempting a jovial tone. “It, ah, seems to me, my lord, this grand crusade of ours has provided all the excitement I could wish for. Proud as I am of my service, which I think you would agree, has been valuable, the time has come for me to seek adventure in warmer climes.”
“You wish to be released.”
Lorkan inclined his head with a smile. “I do.”
“Very well. Given your gift I could hardly compel you to come in any case.”
“My thanks, my lord.” He lingered, fidgeting some more.
“What is it?” Vaelin demanded in a weary sigh.
“Cara, my lord.”
“She also wishes to be released?”
“No, she is firm in her determination to follow you. However, if you were to order her to leave…”
Vaelin turned away from him. “No.”
Lorkan’s tone grew harder. “She is little more than a child…”
“With a woman’s heart and a great gift. She is welcome in my company and I am proud to have her loyalty.” He went to the stairwell in the centre of the roof. “You can keep your horse, weapons, and any booty gathered during the campaign, but please be gone before sunrise.”
“I can’t!” Lorkan was glaring at him now, his shout ringing through the pass. “You know I can’t leave without her.”
Vaelin cast a glance back at the young Gifted, face tense with anger and a little fear, his stance poised as he no doubt prepared to blink out of sight. “I know that sometimes life gives us nothing but hard choices,” Vaelin told him before starting down the stairs. “If you’re not here come the morning, I’ll be sure to explain your absence to Cara.”
They were five miles beyond the pass the next day when Kiral abruptly reined her pony to a halt, her eyes turning towards the west, features drawn in sharp scrutiny. “Trouble?” Vaelin asked her.
She narrowed her eyes, frowning in confusion. “Something … Someone new.”
“Another song?”
She shook her head. “Not a singer, and my song holds no warning. But he calls to me.”
“From where?”
Her face took on a sudden wariness, the first sign of fear he had seen her exhibit. “The Fallen City.”
Vaelin nodded, turning and be
ckoning to Orven. “I require five men, my lord. Make camp in the valley ahead and await our return.” He raised his voice, addressing a somewhat sullen figure farther back along the column. “Master Lorkan! Please join us.”
It was a two-day trek to the city, the journey shortened by Kiral’s intimate knowledge of the mountains. The ruins were much as he remembered, though now he felt none of the oppressive weight that had plagued him during his last visit here, although both Kiral and Lorkan enjoyed no such immunity.
“Faith, this is worse than the forest.” Lorkan grimaced and sagged in his saddle, his complexion taking on a pale hue.
“Never have I come so close before,” Kiral said, her unease clear in the rigid set of her shoulders. “This is no place for the living.”
“Master Lorkan?” Vaelin said, favouring the youth with an expectant smile and nodding at the ruins. After a long moment’s hesitation Lorkan inclined his head and climbed down from his horse. He took a deep breath and started for the city at a steady walk, slipping into the air after a few steps and drawing a murmur of disquiet from the guardsmen.
“Whoever waits in there will see him,” Kiral advised.
“I know,” Vaelin replied.
“Then why send him?”
“What is life without an occasional amusement?”
They sat surveying the silent ruins for only a few more moments before the shout came, a shrill exclamation of alarm echoing from the tumbled stones. Kiral unlimbered her bow and the guardsmen fanned out, swords at the ready as Lorkan burst into view at the city’s edge, cloak trailing behind him as he pelted in their direction, eyes wide with unabashed terror. The reason for his flight soon became apparent, a large brown shape lumbering in pursuit, mouth wide and teeth bared in a challenging roar.