Blood Song (35 page)

Together with Caenis, he had been chosen to accompany Aspect Arlyn to the proceedings, ostensibly as guards, the Order House being short on confirmed brothers as continuing discord in the Realm had called most of them away. But Vaelin suspected the Aspect also wanted them to learn something of how the different Orders governed the Faith.

The Conclave convened in the debating hall of the House of the Third Order, a cavernous chamber of vaulted ceilings and long benches. In addition to the Aspects, many of the senior masters of each Order were also present and allowed a voice in the discussion. Caenis and Vaelin, however, had been left with no illusions as to the value of their own opinions.

“I never dreamed I would be allowed to come here, brother,” Caenis enthused in a whisper, almost shaking with excitement as they took their seats behind Aspect Arlyn. “Present at the choosing of two new Aspects. A privilege indeed.”

Vaelin noted he had brought along a good supply of parchment and a stub of charcoal. “Started the Tale of Brother Caenis, already?”

“Actually, I was going to call it The Book of Five Brothers.”

“It’s six, counting Frentis.”

“Oh, he’ll get a page or two, don’t worry.”

Aspect Silla Colvis of the First Order was present along with twenty or so of his white-robed masters. They were all men in their sixties or older, their deeply lined faces apparently lost in contemplation, either that or they were asleep. Aspect Elera was accompanied by only three brothers and two sisters, Vaelin’s heart sinking when he saw that Sherin was not amongst them.

Aspect Dendrish Hendrahl’s brush with death had clearly left its mark, his skin now a pallid grey contrasting with its previous porcine pinkness, his eyes sunken into the fleshy mass of his face like two stones pushed into soft dough. He had brought more masters than the other Aspects, over thirty, mostly men sharing a singular characteristic in that they seemed to be smelling the same foul odour. There was only the barest flicker of recognition when he caught sight of Caenis and no offer of a greeting to the young man who had saved his life. If anything Vaelin sensed a resentment in the Aspect’s demeanour. It must have hurt almost as much as the poison, he surmised, to be saved by one of us.

“These two come before us for recognition,” Aspect Silla told the assembled representatives of the Orders. “The Faith requires we meet to consider the merits of their appointment. We will hear questions now.”

Aspect Dendrish was first to raise his hand, addressing his question to Liesa Ilnien. “The lamented Aspect you wish to replace,” he began before pausing to cough loudly into a lace handkerchief, “…served as Aspect of the Second Order for over twenty years. Do you think you can offer the same level of experience?”

The woman responded without pause, the words flowing easily from her lips in precise, even tones. “An Aspect does not require experience. An Aspect is a brother or sister who best embodies the values of their Order.”

“And you presume to judge yourself the embodiment of your Order’s values?” the Aspect demanded, reddening a little, although Vaelin sensed his anger was somewhat forced.

“I presume to judge myself in all things,” Mistress Liesa Ilnien replied. “The Faith teaches us to be our own judge, for who knows one’s heart better than oneself?”

“Mistress Liesa,” Aspect Elera said before Hendrahl could respond. “Have you journeyed far in this Realm?”

“I have visited all four Fiefs and I spent a year on mission to the Northern Reaches, trying to bring the Faith to the horse tribes of the great plains.”

“A noble endeavour. Did you have any success?”

“Sadly the horse folk tend to shun outsiders and cling to their delusions. If I am blessed by ascension to Aspect it is my hope to send more missions north. The Faith is a blessing that must be shared beyond our borders.”

“Such concern for the outside world,” Aspect Silla said, “would seem to contradict the values of your Order. Ever has it been the bastion of contemplation and meditation, sheltered from the many storms of our land. Would such work not suffer if you were to concern yourselves more with the harshness of the physical world?”

“In order to contemplate one must
have
something to contemplate. A life without experience provides no chance of contemplation. Those who have not lived cannot meditate on the mysteries of life.”

Vaelin was impressed by the woman’s logic but could sense the agitation of the assembled masters, a subdued rumble of conversation filling the benches. Next to him Caenis was busy scribbling.

Aspect Arlyn raised a hand and the murmuring of the crowd stopped immediately. “Mistress Liesa, why do you think your Aspect was murdered?”

The Mistress bowed her head for a moment, a momentary sadness passing over her face. “There are those who wish to harm our Faith,” she said, raising her head to meet Aspect Arlyn’s eye, her measured tone faltering slightly. “Who they are or why they would do this is something I cannot imagine.”

Next to her Brother Tendris Al Forne spoke for the first time. “If our sister cannot imagine who would strike against us, perhaps I can.”

“You have not yet been questioned,” Aspect Silla pointed out.

“Show some respect for this occasion, young man,” Aspect Dendrish said, wheezing a little. Vaelin noted there were spots of blood on his handkerchief.

“I offer no disrespect,” Al Forne replied. “Only truth, a truth some of us seem afraid to speak.”

“And what truth is this?” Aspect Elera asked.

Al Forne paused to take a deep breath as if gathering strength. Next to Vaelin Caenis’s charcoal stub was poised over his parchment in anticipation. “We have been complacent,” Al Forne said eventually. “We have allowed ourselves to become weak. The Sixth Order once fought only against the enemies of the Faith, now they police the frontiers of this Realm at the beck and call of the Crown and Denier sects gather in force without challenge.

“The Fourth Order once offered healing only to those who were true adherents of the Faith but now they open their arms to all, even the unfaithful, and so they grow strong and confident in the knowledge that they may plot against us and we will still heal them.

“My own Order once kept records of Denier sects and practices going back centuries, but not more than three months ago they were destroyed to make yet more room for the Royal accounts we are now required to keep. I know what I say may anger or shock many in this chamber, but believe me brothers and sisters, we have tied the Faith too closely to the Realm and the Crown. And that is why we were attacked, because our enemies see our weakness if we do not.”

The silence was palpable, broken only by the choked rage of Aspect Dendrish who managed to gasp, “You come before us spouting this… this heresy and still expect to be made Aspect?”

“I come before you to speak the truth in the hope our Faith will return to its true path. As for your approval, I do not require it. I am the choice of my Order. My election was unopposed and no other will come before you. The articles of the Faith state you must be consulted before my ascension, that is all. Am I not correct, Aspect Silla?”

The aged Aspect nodded his grey head stiffly, either too shocked or too outraged to speak.

“Then we have consulted and I thank you all for your attention. I pray you will all heed my words. Now I must return to my Order, for I have much to do.” He bowed and turned to walk briskly from the chamber.

The Conclave exploded with rage, the assembly rising to their feet, shouting their anger at Al Forne’s retreating back, the words “heretic” and “traitor” loudest amongst the cries. Al Forne didn’t turn, leaving the chamber without breaking stride or sparing a backward glance. The tumult continued unabated, calls for action rising above the clamour, some masters imploring Aspect Arlyn to seize Al Forne and take him to the Blackhold. Aspect Arlyn however sat in silence throughout it all.

Vaelin noticed Caenis had used up his supply of parchment and was feverishly searching his pockets for more. “Has this ever happened before?” he asked him, finding he had to shout to be heard.

“Never,” Caenis replied, finding a scrap of parchment he began to write again, quickly covering it in script. “Not ever in the history of the Faith.”

Chapter 7

Autumn brought the Test of the Bow. Once again all the novice brothers passed. Predictably Caenis, Nortah and Dentos excelled themselves whilst Barkus and Vaelin proved only adequate, at least by the standards of the Order. They were rewarded with permission to attend the Summertide Fair, delayed for two months due to the riots.

Both Vaelin and Nortah opted to remain behind. There were rumours that the Crows continued to nurse their grievance and it seemed pointless to invite retribution at the scene of their humiliation. Besides, Nortah had no wish to revisit an event synonymous with his father’s execution. They spent the day hunting in the woods with Scratch, the slave-hound’s nose quickly leading them to a deer. Nortah put an arrow through the animal’s neck from fifty paces. Instead of carrying the carcass back to the kitchens they decided to butcher it on the spot and camp out for the night. It was a pleasant evening in the woods, the leaves of early autumn laying a greenish bronze blanket on the forest floor and shafts of sunlight streaming through the thinning branches.

“There are worse places to be,” Vaelin observed, cutting a slice from the haunch of venison spitted over their camp fire.

“Reminds me of home,” Nortah said, tossing a slice of meat to Scratch.

Vaelin hid his surprise. Since his father’s execution Nortah rarely spoke of his life before the Order. “Where is it? Your home.”

“In the south, three hundred acres of land bordered by the Hebril river. My father’s house was set on the shores of Lake Rihl. It had been a castle when he was a boy but he’d made many changes. We had over sixty rooms and a stable for forty horses. We’d often go riding in the woods, when he wasn’t at Varinshold on the King’s business.”

“Did he tell you what he did for the King?”

“Many times, he wanted me to learn. He said one day I would serve Prince Malcius the same way he served King Janus. It was the duty of our family to be the King’s closest advisors.” He gave a short, bitter laugh.

“Did he ever tell you about the war with the Meldeneans?”

Nortah gave him a sidelong glance. “When your father burned their city you mean? He only mentioned it once. He said the Meldeneans couldn’t hate us any more than they already did. Besides they’d had ample warning of what would happen if they didn’t leave our ships and our coast in peace. My father was a very pragmatic man, burning their city didn’t seem to concern him greatly.”

“He didn’t tell you why he sent you here, did he?”

Nortah shook his head. The hour was growing late and the glow of the fire shone brightly in his eyes, his handsome face sombre in shadow. “He said I was his son and it was his wish that I join the Sixth Order. I remember he had argued with my mother the night before, which was strange because they never argued, in fact they rarely spoke at all. In the morning she wasn’t at breakfast and I wasn’t allowed to say goodbye when the cart came for me. I haven’t seen her since.”

They lapsed into silence, Vaelin’s line of thought leading him to questions he felt were best unasked.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nortah said.

“I wasn’t thinking…”

“Yes you were. And you’re right. My father sent me to the Order because you were sent here by
your
father. I told you they were rivals but I didn’t tell you all of it. My father hated the Battle Lord, loathed him. For a while it seemed all he could talk about was how his position was constantly undermined by a gutter born butcher. It irked him greatly that your father was so popular with the people, a thing my father could never achieve. He wasn’t one of them, he was high born, but your father was a commoner, risen to greatness on his own merits. When he sent you here it was a great symbol of devotion to the Faith and the Realm, a public sacrifice that could only be matched one way.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologise. You are as much a victim of your father as I am of mine. It took me years to reckon it, why he had done it, one day it just popped into my head. He gave me up to better his position at Court.” He gave a wry, humourless smile. “Our dear King, it seems, cared little for his gesture.”

I am not my father’s victim,
Vaelin thought.
My mother sent me here, to protect me.
He left the thought unsaid, suspecting Nortah would find it difficult to accept.

“It’s ironic don’t you think?” Nortah asked after a moment. “If we’d never been given to the Order most likely we’d have become enemies, like our fathers. And our sons would have been enemies, maybe even their sons, and on and on it would have gone. At least this way it ends before it could begin.”

“You sound almost content to be in the Order.”

“Content? No, just accepting. This is my life now. Who can say what the future will bring?”

Scratch yawned, his teeth gleaming in the firelight, then moved to Vaelin’s side, snuggling close before settling down to sleep. Vaelin patted his flank and lay back on his bed roll, looking for shapes in the vast array of stars above and waiting for sleep to claim him.

“I… feel I owe you a debt, brother,” Nortah said.

“A debt?”

“For my life.”

Vaelin realised Nortah was trying to thank him, in the only way Nortah could thank anyone. Not for the first time he wondered what kind of man Nortah would have been had his father not sent him here. A future First Minister? A Sword of the Realm? Battle Lord even? But he doubted he would have been the kind of man who gave his son away just to better his rival.

“I don’t know what the future will bring,” he told his brother eventually. “But I suspect you’ll have many chances to repay the debt.”

It was a curious fact of life in the Order that the older they got the harder their training became. It seemed their skills had to be raised ever higher, honed like a sword blade. And so as autumn became winter their sword practice doubled, then tripled until it seemed it was all they did. Master Sollis became their only master, the others now distant figures preoccupied with younger charges. The sword became their life. Why was no mystery. Next year would bring the Test of the Sword when they would face three condemned men, sword in hand, and triumph or die.