He wiped his bloodied hand on the man’s jerkin and took stock of his surroundings. A small room with a passage leading deeper into the keep and a stairway off to the left. Lord Mustor had told him the Lord’s Chamber was at ground level so he took the passage, moving slower now, each shadowed corner a potential threat. Soon he found himself before a large oaken door, slightly ajar, outlined by the torch-lit chamber beyond.
How many guards with him? he wondered, his hand already reaching out to push the door open. This is foolish. I should wait for the others… But the blood-song was so loud now, forcing him forward. FIND HIM!
There were no guards, just a large stone chamber, the walls shrouded in shadow beyond the six stone pillars that supported the ceiling. The man seated on a dais at the far end of the chamber was tall and broad-shouldered, his handsome face marred by a deep scar on his left cheek. A naked sword lay across his knees, a plain, narrow bladed weapon Vaelin recognised as Renfaelin from the absence of a guard; Cumbraelins were renowned bowsmiths but reputedly knew little of forging steel. The man said nothing as Vaelin entered, remaining seated and regarding him with silent intent, his eyes empty of fear.
Now he stood confronted by his quarry the blood-song lost its shrillness, diminishing to a soft but steady murmur at the back of his mind. Am I where it wants me to be? he thought. Or where I need to be? In either case, he saw little reason for preamble.
“Hentes Mustor!” he said, striding forward. “You are called by the King’s Word to answer charges of treason and murder. Give up your sword and stand ready to be shackled.”
Hentes Mustor remained seated as Vaelin approached, neither speaking nor reaching for his weapon. It was only when Vaelin came within the last few yards that he noticed a chain coiled around his left wrist and traced the dark links of iron from his hand to the shadows between the pillars. Mustor’s hand jerked in a quick, skilful motion, the chain snapping like a whip, striking sparks from the flagstones as a figure was dragged from the darkness, a slender figure, gagged with wrists shackled. She stumbled to her knees before Mustor and Vaelin had time to note the grey robe she wore and the dark tumble of her hair before the usurper was on his feet with his sword at her throat.
“Brother,” he said in a soft, almost sorrowful voice. “I believe this young woman is known to you.”
Her eyes were bright, fearful, pleading. Her shouts stopped by the gag but the meaning was clear in the emphatic, frantic shake of her head. Her eyes locked onto his and he read them clearly. Do not sacrifice yourself for me! The gag and the passage of years meant nothing. He would have known her anywhere. Sherin!
Chapter 6
“Your sword, brother,” Hentes Mustor said in his soft voice.
There should have been rage, desperate, bloody rage sending a throwing knife into Mustor’s arm and a sword cleaving deep into his neck. But something choked it off as it rose in his breast. It wasn’t just caution, although the man was quick, far quicker than Gallis the climber had been all those years ago, it was something more. For a second he was lost in confusion then it came to him: the blood-song’s tune hadn’t changed. The same soft, steady murmur still sang in his head, devoid of the warning or wrongness he knew so well.
His sword landed with a clatter at Mustor’s feet, the sound mingling with Sherin’s muffled sob of despair.
“And so,” Mustor kicked the sword away into the shadows, his tone heavy with reverence. “The truth of His word is shown again.” His eyes fixed on Vaelin. “Your other weapons, throw them away. Slowly.”
Vaelin did as he was bid, his knives and the dagger in his boot tossed into the shadows. “Now I am disarmed,” he said. “Is there any reason to threaten my sister so?”
Mustor glanced at Sherin’s reddened face, as if remembering she was there. “Your sister. He told me that’s not how you think of her. She is your love, is she not? The key by which your faith can be unlocked.”
“My faith cannot be unlocked, my lord. I’ve given you my sword, that’s all.”
“Yes.” Mustor nodded, his voice flat with certainty. “As He said you would.”
Is he mad? Vaelin wondered. The man was a patent fanatic but did that make him insane? He recalled Sentes Mustor’s story of his brother’s conversion. He claimed the World Father had spoken to him… “Your god? He told you I would come here?”
“He is not my god! He is the World Father who created all and knows all in His love, even heretics like you. And I am blessed by His voice. He warned me of your coming and that your Dark skill with the blade would undo me, though in my sinful pride I longed to face you without this trickery. He guided me to the mission where this woman could be found. And it was all as He foretold.”
“Did he foretell that you would kill your father?”