Raven's Shadow 01 - Blood Song

The King tossed the parchment aside. “What do you make of this?”

 

 

“The Aspect wishes you to send the Realm Guard to the Martishe to root out Deniers.”

 

“Indeed, as if my soldiers have little better to do than run around the woods for months with Cumbraelin longbowmen waiting behind every tree. Oh no, the Realm Guard will not go within ten miles of the Martishe. But you will.”

 

“Me, Highness?”

 

“Yes. I will prevail upon Aspect Arlyn to send a small contingent of brothers to the Martishe, you will be among them. As will a young man named Linden Al Hestian. You know this name?”

 

“Al Hestian.” Vaelin recalled the furious man lashing his way through the crowd at the Summertide fair where Nortah’s father had met his end. “I once met a Lord Marshal of that name.”

 

“Lakrhil Al Hestian, Lord Marshal of my Twenty-Seventh Regiment of Horse. A capable officer and one of my wealthier nobles. Like my late First Minister a man of great ambition, particularly where his son is concerned. His elder son, Linden.”

 

Vaelin felt a hard ball of dread form in the pit of his stomach. “His son, Highness?”

 

“A fine young man with many admirable qualities, sadly humility and intelligence are not among them. The fellow has a wide circle of friends, in truth a gang of admirers and sycophants. Nothing attracts friends like wealth and arrogance. He is currently the darling of my esteemed court, winning tournaments, bedding ladies, fighting duels. It’s a rather tediously familiar story, I’m afraid. A young man achieves great fame and success at an early age and begins to believe his own legend, not helped by the indulgence of an ambitious father. He is by far the most popular young man in court, far more popular than my own son who has never been gifted in the ways of artifice. Every day I’m beset with entreaties to give the younger Al Hestian a commission, something to help him prove his worth, set him on the path to glory. And so I will. He will be made a Sword of the Realm and commanded to raise his own regiment which he will take into the Martishe to root out the Deniers currently infesting it. Sadly, I predict this will be a long and arduous campaign and after,” the King paused to think, “six months or so he will, tragically, meet his end in a Denier ambush.”

 

Their eyes met, Vaelin’s stomach churning with mingled anger and despair. I am a fool, he decided. A mouse seeking bargains with an owl. “Urlian’s wife, Highness?” he grated.

 

“Oh, I daresay Aspect Tendris will be in a more amenable frame of mind when I tell of him of my plans for a crusade in the Martishe, especially since you will be part of it. He’s fond of you, you know. I’ll vouch for the woman, tell him I’m convinced of her redemption, provided she says nothing to the contrary she will be free by tomorrow evening.”

 

“I need assurance she and her son will be provided for.” Vaelin forced himself to keep his eyes locked on the King’s. “If I’m to be part of your crusade.”

 

“I’m sure Tower Lord Al Myrna can find room for another exile or two. The distinction between Faithful and Denier means little in the Northern Reaches.” The King turned back to his desk, lifting his quill and smoothing a blank parchment out before him. “You will receive your orders in the next few days.” He began to write again, his quill scratching its path across the page.

 

It took a moment for Vaelin to realise he had been dismissed. He got to his feet, finding himself slightly dizzy, whether with anger or sorrow he couldn’t tell. “My thanks for your time, Highness,” he forced the words out and moved to the door.

 

“Remember, young hawk,” the King said, not looking up from his parchment. “This is not the whole of my plan for you. Merely the beginning. I command, you follow. That is the bargain you made this night.” He glanced up, meeting Vaelin’s eyes again. “You understand?”

 

“I understand perfectly, Highness.”

 

The King held his gaze a moment longer, then returned to his writing, saying nothing as Vaelin left.

 

Captain Smolen was waiting for him when he emerged from the wall. “Your visit is concluded, brother?”

 

Vaelin nodded and collected his weapons from the table, re-equipping himself quickly, possessed by a strong desire to be away from this place. He needed time alone to think. The enormity of his bargain with the king had stirred his thoughts into a confused jumble. He followed Smolen back along the myriad corridors lined with forgotten gifts, his mind continually repeating the King’s final words. This is not the whole of my plan for you. Merely the beginning.

 

“You’ll forgive me if I leave you here,” Smolen said at the corner to what Vaelin recognised as the corridor leading to the east gate. “I have pressing duties elsewhere.”